A Kind of Merry Mercenary Christmas
by LenaxROCK
Summary: Holiday fic. SantaClause!Christophe anyone? ::multiple chapters, centers around the Mole and his tres annoying mother at Christmastime.::
1. The Joys of Shopping

Christophe wasn't exactly the type of person you would describe as "merry" around the holidays. Every Christmas, he would kind of just ignore the festivities around him and go on with his everyday business like it was any other time of the year. After all, Christophe's favorite person was certainly not God, and Christmas is a more or less religious holiday. You couldn't blame him for being so apathetic towards the holidays, but again at the same time, you could.

* * *

_December 19th ----- 120 hours until Christmas_

"It's only five days until Christmas, Christophe, and you still 'aven't told me what you want yet," Christophe's mother said when they passed a display advertising pocket knives fifty-percent off.

Christophe only sighed in answer. He did enjoy the presents at Christmas, if only a little bit, but it still would be all the same to him if there was no December 25th.

The two of them went out of the store and walked furthur along the other shops. Christmas music filled the mall they were walking in. Almost every store's display window showed off twinkling green-and-red lights and excruciatingly-elaborately-decorated Christmas trees. There was a group of people standing outside the Gap right beside an "everything in store 30 off" sign that sang Christmas carols without cease.

It seemed like the entire freaking mall was Christmas-crazy, and Christophe didn't want to be there. He had very important mercenary business to take care of -- the holidays always gave Christophe tons of job opportunities considering how many people were lazy and relied solely on the Mole to sneak in to stores and snatch gifts for his clients so they wouldn't have to -- heavens forbid -- stop playing World of Warcraft. He had a giant list of missions that needed to be carried out before Christmas, and he had to get started on them or he'd soon no longer have his job as the Mole. Christophe hoped his mother wouldn't take so long in this annoying mall.

It was funny how Christophe's moher, Bijou, had such a powerful control over him. She didn't bother him too much, but when she did, she _really did_. Relentlessly.  
He'd just gotten off the telephone discussing upcoming Christmas missions with Gregory -- Mole's employer, basically -- when Bijou told him that she was going shopping.  
"Come along, Christophe! You've not been anywhere in ze outside world for over a week. It will do you some good," Bijou insisted.  
Christophe bit his teeth together and thought of how much he needed to get going on those missions, but it was just something that Bijou simply had within her that made her son do whatever she wanted him to against his will the moment she wanted him to do it.

* * *

Bijou stopped walking abruptly while Mole was deep in thought, looking at the ground; he ran right into her and almost fell down. 

"Muzar!" he groaned irritatedly, regaining his balance. Bijou, however, didn't noticed the collision at all. She was staring, mesmerized, into a store window, pressed tightly against the glass, at a large, hot pink pink snake-skin purse. Mole looked up at the store entrance -- it was a Luis Vuitton store. He looked back down at his mother. She was obviously spellbound.

"Oh Christophe! Look at zis _gorgeous _bag!" she exclaimed breathlessly, her hazel eyes glowing.

Christophe looked at it again, but he just didn't see the marvelous supremacy of it. So, left without anything to say about the purse, asked, "Can we go yet, _please_?"

Bijou leaned away from the Louis Vuitton purse slowly and grimaced as if she were greatly depressed. "Alright, Christophe. Let us go."

Relieved, the Mole and his mother continued walking, this time toward the mall exit. Things didn't go his way for long, however, because when they passed the mall Santa Clause area, Bijou stopped once again.

There was a huge queueline, the two of them saw, that led from the chair the guy playing Santa Clause sat all the way to the very end of the other side of the mall lobby. Apparently all these people and their kids were there to see Santa Clause and he hadn't showed up.

Bijou crossed her arms and looked on at the crazy scene. Christophe felt a migraine coming on.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am! We're doing everything we can to find 'Santa Clause'. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll show up very soon! Very, very soon!" a panicked mall employee explained in a stressed out tone to all the angry parents and crying kids.

Bijou turned to Christophe. "Do you know what I zink?" She smiled a wide, devious smile.

Christophe looked up at her. After a moment of thinking, he cringed in unadulterated disgust. "No muzar! No! _No no no_! I won't do it!"

Bijou just smiled. She had such a powerful control over him.

* * *

**Author's Note**: To be continued! Ooh, cliffhanger. Although you can pretty much tell what's going to happen anyway. (coughcoughSANTA-CLAUS-CHRISTOPHEcoughcough) 

I hope you guys are liking this fic so far! I'm soooo into the Christmas spirit this year, I just had to write a South Park Christmas fic. I originally planned on having this story -- Mole and his mom and such -- inside a different story as a subplot, but that just didn't work out, so I decided to make it its own Christmas story.

Christophe's mother's name is indeed Bijou, by the way. I just thought I'd mention that, because I didn't make it up. If you go look up the South Park movie script on some official South park sites, you'll see that Matt and Trey wrote her with the name Bijou. Just saying.

Gregory is going to be in this story, too, by the way; possibly in the next chapter or so. He plays a big part in this story. (If you ask me, Gregory needs some more recognition in the South Park fandom. He's such a fun character, and so fun to write.) I'm not sure how many chapters there will be, but I'm working on it. Expect more dialogue and more of the story centering around Christophe.

Review if you like it, please! Updates are coming soon!

Writing and fanfiction -- owned by me

All characters and South Park -- Matt Stone and Trey Parker

The Gap store -- whoever owns the Gap


	2. More Stupid Things to Annoy the Mole

Small children wailed loudly. Babies sobbed. Unsatisfied parents cursed. 

There was now a Santa Clause for the mall audience, but there was still a problem.

_Christophe _was Santa Clause.

* * *

A small boy jumped happily into the lap of the very malcontented Christophe, whose exasperated grimace was hidden by the Santa hat and fake white beard. 

Flatly and without much enthusiasm, the Mole asked, "What would you like zis year?"

The little boy smiled brightly, obviously ignoring the Santa Clause's complete uninterest. "I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time!"

Christophe tried hard not to laugh; he really, really did. Instead he bit his bottom lip and replied, "Are you joking? You'll shoot your eye out, kid." With that, he pushed the boy off his lap back on the ground.

The boy turned around with an anxious expression. "Bu--but what about a picture? I thought I got to get my picture made with Santa Clause."

The Mole rolled his eyes and let the little kid sit on his knee again. The photographer snapped a picture of them quickly, and the boy slid off and happily skipped away. He grabbed from the photographer the picture that would forever remind him of the day when he was four years old and met the most apathetic Santa Clause the world has ever witnessed.

Next up was a little girl in pigtails. She hesitated for a minute, giggling, and then gleefully took a place on Christophe's knee.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. _Shit. I'm going to be up for three days straight finishing up those jobs if this Santa shit goes on any longer._

"What would you like zis year?" he asked her in the same lackluster tone as before.

The little girl giggled once more and smiled up at him. "You sound funny, Santa! Just like this guy I saw on TV last night! His name was Napoleon. He was French, yeah. That's who you sound like, Santa! Are you from France, Santa? Because I thought you were from the North Pole! Huh, Santa? Are you French? And where are your reindeer? I wanted to see Rudolph! And oh yeah! I forgot. I want a puppy for Christmas!"

The girl simply grinned and stared at the speechless Christophe with piercing eyes. Hell if Christophe knew what to say following such an overwhelming onslaught of a six-year-old's ramblings.

As a result, eons of awkward silence followed, until eventually Christophe, who desperately wished for his shovel, cleared his throat and muttered cooly, "Well, little girl, you must be going now. No seriously, you need to go. I 'ave to, eh...go...feed ze reindeer."

She almost gasped. "But Santa, I don't want to go! I like you! And I want my puppy first!"

The Mole squeezed his eyes closed, rubbed his stressed temples, and tried to block out this utterly retarded situation his mother got him into.

Christmas was such a busy time for a mercenary, and it was a pure waste of time to dress up as Santa Clause and be tortured by annoying little kids. He vowed to himself that the next thing his mother made him do, he'd tell _her _what for.

* * *

When the Mole returned home at ten o'clock that night, he opened the front door, swung it closed behind him, and thrust the Santa outfit to the floor angrily. He took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and eagerly took a long drag from it -- it'd been a long time since his last dose of nicotine. 

Just then, Bijou came into the hallway followed by the family dog, Rigolo, a small poodle who had the temper of a rottweiler. Bijou smiled.

"Oh Christophe, you're home, good! 'Ow did you like being Santa Clause for ze children, cher?" she asked happily. Before he could answer her, she added aridly, "Oh, and get zat blasted zing out of your mouth, Christophe. It eez _so ungentlemanly_."

The brunette looked up at her warily and took a rebellious drag from it against his mother's order. Afterwards, he said, "Let's just say zat I am _not _good wiz kids."

Christophe relaxed a bit and then looked down at Rigolo, who was nibbling at the bottom of his boot. He shooed her away, but the angry dog growled at him and bit down as hard as she could on his pants leg. Christophe fought back, but Rigolo used her sharp little teeth to her advantage and fought back just as much.

While Christophe and the dog had an all-out brawl, Bijou, who didn't notice the warfare at all somehow, said, "Well, mon cher, I sink it would do you good to spend more time with ze community, especially at such a grand time of year!"

Christophe was knocked to the floor and then mercilessly gnawed on by Rigolo's severely razor-blade like teeth. Christophe slid his boot off his foot swiftly and didn't hesitate to whack the stupid poodle with it. Rigolo, whimpering, simply went to fetch the shoe and started chewing on that, too. Christophe shooed her away again, but the poodle retaliated once again. Bijou went on, still ignoring the fight.

"So I signed up zis afternoon while you were playing Santa Clause to make some éclaires for ze elderly at ze South Park nursing 'ome. And Christophe, I sink zat eet would benefit you more zan anyone else to go over zere with ze eclaires and spend some time wiz zose older men and women," Bijou said.

The Mole stopped fighting with Rigolo abruptly and looked up. With a stunned expression, he gaped and his cigarette fell to the floor.

"Muzer! Do you 'ave _any _idea what you are saying? I don't sink you have _'any _clue as to how _busy _I am zis week. I do not 'ave the time to go off on zese silly adventures you've planned for me! What makes you zink zat I would enjoy being wis zose boring old people, anyway?" Christophe exclaimed, flustered. he picked up the cigarette off the ground quickly and resumed smoking it.

Bijou just rolled her eyes. "What in ze name of France could you be so busy wis? _Digging holes_?" Again she rolled her eyes. Christophe exhaled angrily and glared back at her.

"Anyway, mon cher, you are going to see ze elderly tomorrow, and you are going to enjoy eet. It's Christmas, Christophe, for goodnes sakes," Bijou continued irritably.

She left the hallway, and Rigolo, who'd calmed down quite a bit, trotted conceitedly away from Christophe and followed behind Bijou.

After a moment of silence, the brunette stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby rug and leaned against the door.

"I fucking hate dogs!" he announced loudly. He dug in his pocket for another cigarette.

* * *

_December 20th -- 104 hours until Christmas _

The Mole put on his baldric that day and slid in his shovel in one of the holes. He hoped that after the rediculous community project his mother assigned him for today, which hopefully wouldn't take long, he could start on some of his holiday-related mercenary jobs.

When he got to the old folks' home, it didn't seem so bad at first. He handed the plate of éclaires that his mother made to one of the employees who handed them out to the seniors. However, when he tried to slip out the door casually, the employee insisted he stay for a bit and enjoy some time with the residents.

_Alright, whatever. I can stay for a bit more. You're a fast worker, Christophe. Once you get out of here it won't take long to catch up on those missions. You're the Mole_, he told himself as he took a seat next to an old, wrinkly man in a wheelchair.

"Who are you?" asked the man suspiciously and even a bit crossly.

* * *

**Author's Note**: What a retarded and inconvenient place to stop, huh? I know, but I've written a lot past this part and I want to make sure I don't overwhelm you guys with too much in one chapter. Well, it sort of depends on how much reading in a chapter you consider overwhelming -- I don't know because I can never precisely measure how much I write is a lot or not a lot or just in the middle. So, I'll space it out just to make sure. 

I thought it'd be pretty funny if Bijou and Christophe owned a dog, considering Christophe's undying hate for guard dogs hehe. 'Rigolo' is actually a French noun that means "funny, comical." I'm not an expert in French or anything, but I know a little bit, and I added some French stuff in the story so if you see any mistakes, just ignore them. So I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**REVIEW PLEASE!** Seriously. Tell me what you guys think about it! Except if you're just going to flame me or critique pointlessly. If you're going to do that just don't even bother, because flames are gay and retarded.

So! Update probably tomorrow (maybe more than just one update, possibly) because I've really been on a roll with this fic! Woo!

All characters are owned by matt Stone and Trey parker

"A Christmas Story" Red Ryder BB gun reference and quotes belong to whoever owns "A Christmas Story." (best holiday movie ever)

The only thing I own is Rigolo, the dog/the writing/this storyline/this fanfiction.


	3. Holy Sheet

**Author's Note: Okay, so here's chapter three. Just to update you from the last part in the story, Christophe's mother made him go to the nursing home to go spend time with the old people for the holidays. XD**

**P.S.--I got a review asking what age Christophe is. He's a teenager in this fic.  
**

**I won't tell who the old guy is in this first part (****he's been in the show quite a couple of times.) ****If you guess who he is then you get Christmas cookies, lol.  
**

**And don't forget to review!**

* * *

"My name eez Christophe," he answered aloofly. 

"Yeah, well, none of us want to be here, either, so you can just get over yourself, you teenaged son of a whore!" the old man said, fully angered.

"Excuse me!" Christophe said and scowled at the old man. "I am doing somesing nice for you people! You should be _thanking _me."

He scoffed. "That's aload of bull crap. Go ahead and admit it, your mommy made you come over here."

Christophe folded his arms across his chest. "How ze fuck would you know?"

"I know a lot of things you sons of bitches youngsters don't know. I'm over one hundred years old for Christ's sakes!"

Christophe was shocked. "You're over one hundred years old? 'Oly sheet!"

"Yeah well, it ain't no picnic. Hey, are you going to use that shovel for anything useful? I've been trying to get hold of some kind of weapon around here but the sons of whores won't let me use 'em!"

"Yes, I _do _need my shovel. What ze hell would you use eet for, anyway?"

"I'm one-hundred and five fucking years old! I'm gonna use it to put myself out of my misery, dumbass! I'd have already done it myself but the big guy upstairs just insists on keeping me alive in this hellhole, and my son and grandson won't do it either, the bitches. Now hand it over here, sonny," the old man shouted.

Christophe jumped up from where he sat and, ignoring the man shouting loud expletives, ran out of the nursing home.

When he was out of earshot of anyone in the parking lot, Christophe muttered, "Son of a beetch!"

He walked home and tried to shake off the crazy shit he'd had to go through the past two days. He stared at all the Christmas decorations in the town to de-stress. This part of Christmas was the okay part for Christophe. The decorations, and the presents. That reminded him -- he really did need to tell Bijou what he wanted if he expected to get anything that year, even if he was pissed off at her.

----------------

The afternoon was productive, if only a little -- he finished a total of three of his Christmas jobs. He sneaked into a bait-and-tackle shop and snatched some fishing rods for Stan Marsh's Uncle Jimbo as a Christmas present, dug a hole in the Wallmart and sneaked back out with a new bicycle for Craig Nommel's younger sister, and broke into a electronics store and cleverly thieved a new mp3 player for Stan Marsh from Kyle Broflovski. There were still several more work to be done, though, but there was still a couple days left, Mole thought.

The sun was setting when Christophe finished. He was starting to feel hungry, so he decided it would be best to go home for a bit and then finish up one or two more missions for the night. Also, he thought, it would be good for Bijou to see how busy he was. Maybe she'd get the hint now.

When he opened the door, he nearly fell over -- there were tons and tons of boxes sprawled around the front hallway filled with ornaments and tinsel. They all led to the living room where he could hear his mother talking and Rigolo barking. he stepped carefully around all the boxes and saw that his mother was trying to set up a Christmas tree in the corner.

Bijou looked up and held the wobbly tree in place. "Ah, _salut_, _cher_," she said. "I found ze best deal on zis tree today. It will make a lovely Christmas tree, don't you zink?"

Before Christophe could answer, the telephone rang. He slid off the heavy baldric as he went to answer it -- it was Gregory.

"Christophe! I'm very glad you answered. It's concerning the job. How many have you completed since I talked to you last?" Gregory asked in his usual all-business tone.

"You aren't going to very 'appy when I tell you, Gregory," the Mole answered. He got out a cigarette, lit it, and began smoking it as he talked. "My muzer 'as gone crazy apparently, more zan she eez normally, and she's kept me busy wiz stupid errands and 'community involvement' and sheet like zat. So I 'ave only been able to do three of zem."

"Three!" Gregory exclaimed, surprised. "Well you're right, I'm _not _very happy. Although I can relate to how mothers can be sometimes. Still, Christophe, you mustn't let these things interfere with the job, do you understand? There are at least thirty clients who are waiting to have their Christmas gifts before the twenty-fifth, and if we cannot do that, we might as well kiss goodbye our work."

"Gregory, I know all zat perfectly well. I really don't need to hear anysing from you zat I've heard a thousand times already," the Mole replied curtly. "I'll get zem done, I promise. 'Ave I ever let you down before on zese missions? And don't you dare fucking say anything about ze USO show, you know damn well zat wasn't my fault, Gregory."

Gregory chuckled wholeheartedly. "I know that wasn't your fault, Christophe, I know. But I expect them to be finished very soon, are we clear?"

"Crystal," Christophe said and took a long drag from his cigarette. They said goodbye and after he returned the phone to its place on the wall, he returned to the living room. Bijou was opening some of the boxes.

"Who was zat, cher?" she asked.

"Oh, eet was Gregory. 'e just wanted to chat," Christophe said casually, an obviously well-experienced liar. His mother, he knew, would flip out if she knew his line of work meant dangerous business along with the sins of lying, stealing, and breaking-and-entering.

"So are you going to help your muzer decorate ze Christmas tree?" she asked hopefully, holding up some tinsel in her hands.

Christophe began walking out of the living room and into the kitchen. "_Non_, _mére_, I cannot. I 'ave a lot of work I need to finish up on tonight."

Bijou sighed defeatedly and looked at the bare Christmas tree. "Alright, Christophe," she said quietly. "I will just enjoy ze 'oliday spirit by myself, zen." She began wrapping the tinsel around the branches desolately.

- To be continued -


End file.
